


Hyrulian Nights

by jamieranch



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Aladdin (1992) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Arabian Nights Fusion, F/M, Gen, Other, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamieranch/pseuds/jamieranch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The desert kingdom of Hyrule is ruled by a tyrant, who clawed his way to the top through sneaky and vicious means. He has big and devastating plans that may prove deadly to the kingdom's population! Meanwhile, a growing underground resistance bubbles and boils, and the threat of revolution is constant.... The kingdom's fate lies in the hands of a peasant boy, marked by the goddess, who knows nothing of his own strength. Can he rise to the challenge, or will Hyrule crumble like old cheese in the hands of their king, forever lost to war and bloodshed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oasis

**Author's Note:**

> This is the very first installment of many to come, and also the very first of any sort of fanfiction that I've ever written, so I hope it's up to snuff! I have a good idea of where the plot is going and what will definitely happen, but the specifics are still up in the air, so if you have suggestions or comments or anything please feel free to contribute!

 

It is a universal truth that all young boys are blissfully ignorant to the insignificance of their worldly presence. To them, a small village, barely forty acres all around, seemed like a pathetic prison-- one which a boy with enough spirit could rule over with an iron fist. Link had plenty of spirit, or so he’d been told, and thus imagined that, instead of being precariously perched atop a beam on the old baker’s roof, he was sitting on a fabulous throne of plush velvet and surrounded by loyal consorts.

The fantasy flew from his inattentive mind as quickly as it had come-- for what dirty street rat could ever be king! However, he liked his humble lifestyle well enough; it was carefree and easy, even though he had not a coin to his name. Besides, he was quite convinced that no royal palace could have a view so splendid as the one from his perch. There, he could view Kokiri Village in its entirety and gawk at its scenic magnificence. Just below was an expanse of colorful canopies that shaded the shopkeepers that vehemently thrust their goods at the passersby. He smiled at the bustle, and mused to himself about he could never be caught dead in the marketplace on a Sunday.

Just beyond the bustling bazaar was the oasis, which provided the village with fresh water. It was a wide, park-like area where children played heroes and lovers fed each other dried figs beneath the grand date palm tree that hung over the crystal spring. The surrounding area was covered in lush grass and wildflowers-- rarities, even among the most prosperous of desert oases, untouched by human hands. Though the scene was perfectly picturesque, it could not hold his attention long, for Link’s serene thoughts scattered as a pebble came flying forward and smacked him square in the middle of his forehead.

 The pebble fell and bounced off of Link's thigh, rolled across the thatched roof and plummeted towards the ground below. Following the stone with his gaze, he leaned cautiously over the edge, only to be met with the unceremonious glare of the local gardener's daughter-- Saria. She had her lips pursed into a perfect circle, and her brow was knit together in a scrutinizing manner, giving her round eyes a stern look.  Link flinched, though he was well accustomed to the disapproving gaze, and immediately hopped down from the roof in fear of the girlish wrath that might await him otherwise.

It wasn't a very long jump-- after all, his feet only stung a little, and even if he'd lost his balance there was a taught awning hanging over the bakery's window to catch him. Still, Saria had a hand clasped over her mouth, and her eyes briefly softened with concern before she abruptly smacked him upside the head.

"Goddess above! You scared me half to death!" she cried, raising her hands to rest upon her hips. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you've gone mad with heatstroke! What would Papa say?"

Saria had always been a worrywart, and not without reason for sure, but Link couldn't help but grin at her. Even her father, who had generously taken him in when he was abandoned in the streets as a babe, had never been so fretful as she. Perhaps it was because the her father knew Link could handle himself? Wishful thinking-- No, it was far more likely that he simply knew Saria had enough worry in her for the both of them and contented himself with other tasks. Either way, Link felt affection seeping from the both of them, so he didn't much dwell on the subject.

Saria was not much pleased with Link's cheeky grin, and with a pout on her lips she grabbed and held him by the tip of his pointed ear. He flinched and crinkled his nose, but did not resist as she tugged him along the busy Kokiri streets.

* * *

 The crowd had thinned out considerably, and somewhere along the way Saria had released her hold on Link's ear. He rubbed the side of his face with pursed lips, kicking the sand while she lectured him about responsibility.

"Papa had work for you to do, you know, but when he went to go ask you you were nowhere to be found!" Her nostrils flared as she spoke, and though he was considering her words, his eyes were scanning the cloudless sky above. Saria furrowed her brow. "Are you even listening? Papa's getting old, Link. I can't do everything around the house  _and_ take care of you."

She let out another huff, finally surrendering to the fact that Link wouldn't change his carefree ways of his own volition. He was glad her chatter had ceased now, because his ears had fallen on a different voice altogether-- No, two voices. 

"Have ya heard?" said the first, a low drawl likely belonging to an older gentlemen.

"Heard what?" the second replied in a slower tone, sounding aloof and altogether disinterested.

"'Bout the resistance!" There was the distinctive crack of a hand against a sweaty shoulder, followed by a yelp, before the first man continued in a softer voice, "The Shiekahs.... They're plannin' on raidin' the imperial city 'n takin' down the king."

Link slowed his pace to a stop. He'd heard almost nothing of the king since he could remember-- but maybe that was because he had too short an attention span to care much for politics, especially at his age. Still, something about this conspiracy theory caught and held his attention. He listened closely, ignoring Saria's questioning glare.

"Dumbass!" came the second man's voice once more. "Don'tcha know all them Shiekahs 'r whatever are  _dead_? They got obliterated in the Holy War! There ain't none left."

"I know, I know-- but what if they  _ain't_ dead? What if a couple of 'em survived and they've been hidin' out somewhere 'n waitin' 'n now they wanna take back what was theirs in the first place?"

There was another crack, though heavier this time, and the older man grunted. "Dumbass." 

There was no more talk after this. Now, however, Link became aware of Saria tugging gently at his fingers. The look in her eyes as she urged him forward made him cock a brow. She looked... scared. Terrified, actually, and he didn't understand why. Was it the conversation they'd overheard? He didn't understand that either.

He didn't understand anything.

* * *

 

The memory played inside Link's mind, over and over again. The men's voices, Saria's somber expression.... What had it meant? Even now, as he sat above the bakery with his knees tucked under his chin, he couldn't understand. It was like trying to decipher gibberish. He slipped his tongue through his teeth and raspberried his frustration. 

Guilt tugged at his heart as he sat, staring at the silhouette of the oasis past the now-empty market. He briefly wondered what Saria would think if she were to awaken in the middle of the night and find him gone. Would she come after him. Would she lecture him again? He smiled at the thought. It was impossible to take her seriously when her face was so round and... nonthreatening-- though he shuddered to think what she'd be like as a grown woman.

Link's wandering thoughts came to a skidding halt, however, when a dim sort of glowing light snatched his attention. He was excited, at first, hoping that the bazaar had caught fire, but as he squinted through the darkness he found that it was just as dull as always. What lay past it, on the other hand, was a sight to behold!

The oasis was glowing like a firefly in the distance, and quite magnificently, too. The water's surface sparkled and shimmered, reflecting the pinkish gleam of whatever danced on top of it. He'd never seen anything so spectacular in his life, and before he quite knew what he was doing, he was off the roof and racing through the dead market as fast as his bare feet could carry him. It felt like eons, though he weaved through the dark stalls with speed and mobility he didn't know he possessed.

 As the sparkling water grew nearer and nearer, he saw how different everything looked. He'd been to this place a thousand times, he was sure, and yet he'd never seen it so  _alive_. The grass came up to his knees and vines crept through through the bazaar like snakes slithering through a maze, wrapping around his ankles and consuming any and all structures in their path. He tripped over his own feet and fell forward, now up to his neck in vegetation as he stared at the glowing surface in front of him.

He saw a stranger in the water-- no, it was him, most definitely, but it wasn't  _him._ It wasn't the current Link he saw in the mirror every day. This Link was older, with a longer face and thicker hair. It frightened him, so much so that he scrambled backwards and fell on his back in the grass.

There he stayed for many minutes, until something tickled his nose. His eyes fluttered open, and he was astonished to find an impossibly small woman leaning over the bridge of his nose. She giggled and zipped out of his line of sight and Link, his heart pounding like a drum, shot up in response. He pulled himself to his feet and the small woman danced in front of his face. He saw now that she was not just a pin-sized lady, no; her skin was tinted a luminescent blue, and she had a magnificent pair of dragonfly wings fluttering behind her. She was a fairy.

Link had never seen a fairy before-- in fact, he'd doubted their very existence-- but how could he doubt now that there was one floating, dancing, twirling towards the water's surface? And... how could he not follow her?

As if entranced, he staggered forward. The freezing water stung his toes, but he did not flinch, and did stop until he was waist-deep in thick, glowing water. His legs were going numb, but he didn't care. He extended his hands, fingers trembling; the fairy danced in his palms. Others of her kind twirled and leaped on the waters surface, dancing sweetly around him in perfect synchronization. He grinned. Had they taken a liking to him?

Perhaps, he thought, if he couldn't be king of the people, he could be king of the fairies. 

And so they took him.


	2. Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As time goes by and the Sheikah Resistance bubbles below the Earth, Zelda is finding it hard to adjust to new responsibilities and thoughts of the future. How can a little girl live up to such great expectations?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez-- if it's not one thing it's another! I'd originally planned to do some writing every day, but I swear for the past four days I've been either bogged down with school work, icky mood swings or I've just had absolutely no inspiration. So sorry about the delay!

The clank of clashing metal was heavy, clumsy, and resonated through the makeshift training hall. It was suffocatingly stuffy, and Zelda struggled to move in her over-sized bronze plating. With every swing of her blade, her arms grew heavier, her breaths became labored, and her palms got so slick that the old saber slipped out of her hands. Her partner, who had been on the defense with an armored arm drawn over her face, quickly caught the weapon between two gloved fingers. When she had steadied herself and procured the blade by its hilt, she cast a heavy glare at the girl, who shrank beneath the shine of her red eyes.

"I-I... I promise I'll get better! I'll practice extra hard this week-- I swear!" cried Zelda, clutching a pale fist to her chest.

Her sparring partner, tall and slender, drove the blade into the sand beneath their feet, her lips curving into a gentle smile, though her eyes remained stern. She shook her head. "Your technique is shaky, but fast improving. What you really need is better mobility."

"Impa--!" Zelda's protests were cut short by Impa's outstretched hand, indicating for her to be silent.  _  
_

"We'll start back on the obstacle coarse on the marrow. For now, keep practicing-- and  _don't_ take off the armor. You'll never get used to it if you never wear it."

Impa turned on her heel, her black cape kicking up a cloud of dust behind her. Zelda watched her leave the hall with a furrowed brow.

The moment Impa's thin form had disappeared through the hall's crumbling entrance, Zelda reached behind her waist and untied the thick rope that held the bronze plates over her small frame, letting them drop to the ground with a dull  _thud_. Oh, how she loathed it! Everything she owned was a hand-me-down from her mother and her mother before that, and so on since the holy war; all of it was smelly and old and worn, not to mention too big for her. Her skirts had to be pinned above her knees and her feet slid around in her boots, causing her to trip every time she took a step. The armor was the worst part, though-- it was big and bulky and slammed against her bones when she moved. She thought of this and winced as her fingers passed over a new bruise on her shoulder. She'd been complaining for years, but each time Impa had told her that it was simply impossible to gain new materials, and therefore impossible to make her new clothes or proper-sized shoulder pads. Why this was so, she had no idea, but never questioned it, for Impa's lectures were fierce and Zelda had not the attention span to suffer through them.

With a deep sigh and an intensive effort, she yanked her sword out of the confines of the sand. This, too, was too big-- it nearly matched her in height-- and though it was difficult to control, she had, over the years, gained the strength to swing it. Still, the road to mastery was long, and she still so young. She pursed her lips and resented this fact as she made a fierce swing at the air.

 

* * *

"Your Highness!" Called a voice, male, as Zelda stepped outside. The air was just as stuffy as it had been in the training hall, but at least the light gave things an illusion of freshness. The small village was buried ten meters under the sand, and though it was incredibly gloomy, an intricate system of mirrors and pulleys was constructed to bring natural light into the hollow cavern.

She turned to the man who, even when on his knees, was several inches taller then her. His skin was dark, covered in red and black tattoos, and his hair was a dark silver color, and though she couldn't recall his name, she recognized him as one of the few surviving Sheikah that had sought refuge after the war. He was a good friend of Impa's.

Zelda cocked her head. "Yes?"

"I've brought news, both good, and, forgive me, quite bad."

She furrowed her brow as the man's crimson gaze flicked upwards. He took her silence as an incentive to continue.

"First, the good; we've found Farore's chosen. The envoy has already been dispatched and we hope to hear from here soon."

Her eyes widened. She'd heard the story from Impa a million times-- every ten thousand years the three Goddesses of the Triforce would descend from the heavens and bestow their power upon three chosen humans and a war of deadly proportions would plague the world. Just this past fifty years was the third Holy War that wiped out most of the Sheikah clan and stripped the world of its Earthly beauties, leaving behind only heat and sand. It was the vassal of Din herself, Ganondorf, who had brought the Holy War upon the people of Hyrule, and once he'd torn apart the royal family and destroyed their protectors, he took over as king. However, the vassals of Nayru and Farore had yet to be heard of, so the remaining Sheikah and the ex-Queen, pregnant at the time, went into hiding and waited for the rest of the prophecy to be fulfilled. It was a great wave of relief when Zelda had been born, bearing the mark of Nayru on her right hand. They knew that soon, the world would right itself, and she would be Hyrule's next ruler. However, Farore's vassal was still unaccounted for, and so they kept waiting. Could the time of suffering finally be coming to a close?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a husky cough from the man. "And the bad--" He bit his lip as he spoke, as though the words brought him great pain. "We... have discovered a traitor."

Zelda could not stifle her gasp.

"It is... a shock to all of us, but true nonetheless. We discovered him attempting to escape. Said he couldn't stand it no longer. Fell to his knees and confessed everything-- he'd traded information about the resistance to a peddler for a map to the East."

She'd tuned out most of his words. A traitor? She could hardly believe it. Impa had told her how to handle traitors, but she'd never thought that information so very relevant until now. The man's words melded with the ringing in her ears as she brought her hands to her face and choked out a sob.

* * *

Impa stood beside Zelda, her long fingers draped over the other's petite shoulder. Zelda held her head high, though she kept her eyes shut as Impa addressed the man leaning over the iron slab in the center of the village. He was fat, which was a rarity among common folk these days, and when Zelda cracked one eye open she saw that his eyes were darting around frantically before ultimately landing on her. She gulped and did not open her eyes again.

"It is a shock, and a tragedy," boomed Impa's powerful voice, washing over the small gathering of people. "to be betrayed so by one of our own. It pains me-- it pains  _all_ of us, but treason is a high crime, and must be punished." When her speech was over, Impa leaned down to whisper firmly in Zelda's ear. "You are their leader, Princess. You must let nothing block your hand or interrupt your thoughts-- it is hard, but it must be done."

Her words were hardly reassuring. Still, Zelda kept her head high as the Sheikah man from before came forth and laid a rusty axe in her slick palms. She trembled as she tightened her grip around it, but thought of Impa's disapproving gaze and swallowed her fears.

Her blonde lashes fluttered open, and she scanned the crowd with a composed gaze. All eyes were on her; she could not disappoint her people. If she were to fail now, the hope for the future would crumble in a second. With a heavy breath, she threw back her shoulders and stepped forward.

The convict stared up at his executioner, his whole face drenched in sweat. His eyes beseeched her for mercy, and though her heart shattered, her resolve remained in tact. Her throat was dry and tight; tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she rose the weapon high above her head. She inhaled sharply, assuring herself that she would not let her people see her cry, and the axe swung free.

 


	3. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Ganondorf is a terrible ruler, but his cruelty is none compared to that of his adviser. Together, the two make a terrifying pair that rule Hyrule with an iron fist... but disaster that threatens their place in the castle is imminent. How do the power-hungry fare with no fodder to feed their flames?

The king of Hyrule was a gruff man, ever frank and unhesitating in his manner. He kept his scarlet hair long and wild to signify his ability to do as he pleased, and the unkempt eyebrows that added to the harshness of his glare. Everything about him, from his square jaw to the very way he sat in his throne was designed for the intimidation of others-- and  _oh_  how it worked. The king, Ganondorf, with dead eyes and skin like ebony, was the most feared man in Hyrule. 

Ganondorf's sneer sent visible chills through the peasant kneeling before his elevated throne. The peasant had pleaded and pleaded--  _Please, O Great One, spare my life! My family! Give me but one more week and all taxes will be paid!--_  but the king would have none of it. He leaned back in his throne and grunted a harsh, guttural, and contemptuous noise.

"Your Majesty?" Inquired the royal adviser, standing confidently at the king's side with a hand perched at his hip. He was a pansy in comparison to the king-- thin and pale and handsome, with silky hair parted over the left half of his perfectly sculpted face. Though his presence seemed to act as a foil to Ganondorf's greatness, the adviser himself was no less intimidating. It was the way he stood, perfectly poised with arrogance in the way he cocked his chin.

"Remove him." Ganondorf demanded in turn, his face stiff with apathy.

The paler man smirked, and with a snap of his gloved finger, the peasant was seized by the collar and dragged kicking and screaming through a hidden door behind them.

* * *

The dungeon was a disgusting place. It was humid, and smelled strongly of mildew and human excrement. Ghirahim had to pinch his nose every time he entered it, and he made it a point to audibly gag every time he passed something vaguely humanoid. The line of cells was long, and every single one of them was filled with one or more political prisoners-- a debtor here, a beggar there... even the occasional person-who-vaguely-resembled-a-Sheikah would lay sobbing on the concrete floor.

At the end of the hall was the newest prisoner sat sniveling against the iron bars. He seemed to think that Ghirahim was a ray of hope in the damp darkness, and reached a stubby arm through the bars, clawing at his legs in desperation. The adviser stepped back with a disgusted scoff and laid a hand over his eyes. He composed himself and cast a glare towards a royal guard stationed two cells down.

"Hah! Can you  _believe_  it?This  _slimy creature_  has just attacked me! Me! And here I'd come to let it crawl back to whatever smelly hole it came from with no more than a slap on the wrist!" He bellowed this spiel with a wide flick of his wrist before turning his dark gaze back to the prisoner, now quivering with fear. "Assaulting His Majesty's personal adviser is high treason, you know."

Ghirahim threw his velvet cloak over his shoulder and turned away with a snap of his fingers to summon the guard. Said guard appeared, and Ghirahim touched a finger to his pursed lips.

"We cannot let a menace such as this run free, now can we?" He said, a terrible smirk tugging at his lips.

The guard remained silent

Ghirahim appeared to ponder what to do next, though the sinister gleam in his eye signaled that his decision had already been made. 

"Take him to the gallows!" He cooed, and was off, reveling in the slamming of iron and frantic cries for mercy that echoed behind him.

* * *

 

 The halls of Hyrule Castle were long and twisting, like a labyrinth. Ghirahim took pleasure in navigating them, sneering to himself at servants who'd lost their way. He had finished scolding two terrified maids who had found themselves on the wrong side of the castle, and had warned them with a smile that, should they be caught roaming so near the audience chamber again, he'd have their ears and eyes cut out so they could snoop no longer. This sent them into a frenzy, and they fled. He was replaying the image of their faces in his mind when his foot landed in a soapy puddle. Immediately, he shuddered and stepped back, groaning at the unpleasant wetness seeping through the cloth around his foot. After he had taken the time to voice his displeasure, he shot a glare at the slave who'd been scrubbing the floors.

She was a pale, skinny thing with hair like water that fell just past her ears. She might have been pretty if not for the rags she wore and the dirt on her face. Girahim crouched before her, but she did not look up.

"Insolent girl." He huffed, and snaked his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her head towards him.

Her eyes were hollow and dark, but so glossy that he could see his own reflection in her pupils. He smirked at this before beginning his inquiries.

"What in Din's name is a grease stain such as yourself doing scrubbing floors before His Majesty's chamber?" His tone was harsh, but the girl's face remained stiff, and she spoke not a word. Ghriahim frowned. "You know that dirty slaves aren't to be anywhere near His Majesty at any time, right? And that your work is to be preformed  _after dark_  when no one is around to see you?" But still, she made no response.

With a click of his tongue, Ghirahim slid twitching fingers along the slave's face and through her hair, grabbing a clump of it at the scalp.

"Why!?" He demanded, eyes ablaze. "Why do you not  _speak_!? Why do you never  _speak_!?"

He heard her swallow, saw a bead of sweat form on her brow, and yet her expression did not falter.

In a fit of rage, Ghirahim pulled her face upward by the hair and raised his free hand flat before her face-- however, before he could release the blow, a serious of low murmurs reached his ears from beyond the doors of the audience chamber. He released the girl, who immediately gathered her bucket and brush and left the hall, and pressed an ear against the magnificent doors.

"Your Majesty," came the first, a shaky voice that complemented its speaker. "I've just received news regarding the resistance." 

Ganondorf merely grunted in response.

"Apparently, Sire... apparently they're hiding underground-- right where Kakariko Village once stood! And not only are they growing rapidly in number, but they've been raising a Hylian girl, the daughter of the last king, to try and take back the throne."

At this, Girahim rejoiced and, unable to restrain his glee, burst through the doors with outstretched arms.

"Magnificent! Wonderful! Superb!" He cried as he approached the throne, clapping a hand over the shoulder of Zant, the royal tactician, and the bearer of the good news. "Send the guard-- no, the army--  _no,_ let me go myself! I'll crush every last one of those damned Sheikah and their precious princess with my own two hands! _There shall be no mercy tonight_!"


End file.
